At Fourteen
by aliencatt
Summary: Snapshots of growing up in the Winchester household...WINCEST...pre-series...FAO.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. I am just a fan.

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**At Fourteen**

Pairing: Sam/Dean ... John/Dean

Pre-series

Warning: underage sex – incest – angst (love a good bit of angst) - Parental incest - Sexual violence

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Snap shots of life in the Winchester household.

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When Sam Winchester was fourteen years old, he was cute in that, too tall to be able to control his body kind of way. The sort of young man that people would say fondly, as he bumped into something yet again or knocked it over, that he would soon grow into his height. If, that was, he ever stayed anywhere long enough for there to be anyone around to look fondly on him.

It was around this time that several things began happening within the teenager, as with most boys of that age. He began arguing with his father, and his hormones were running rampant. But unusually for most boys of that age, who prefer anything to actually paying attention at school, the youngest Winchester developed a thirst for knowledge, and a craving for a 'normal' life. This also managed to screw those hormones up even more, as they were leading him in a very different direction.

When Dean Winchester was eighteen years old, he was the only one around long enough to look fondly on Sam. He thought he was cute in that exasperating 'I'm going to kill him if he screws with my tapes one more time' way. He would smile to himself when he watched his younger brother get so flustered around the girls at school when he went to pick him up. But he did not smile at the way he was making him feel the same.

At fourteen, Sam Winchester looked up to his older brother with undisguised hero worship. He was handsome, confident and good at his jobs, both of them. Dean could kick ass whilst hunting with their Dad, and he looked after his younger brother. He always had, and Sam might never show it as, after all he was a teenage boy, but Sam appreciated him for it, he loved him for it, he adored him for it. And now Dean was standing up for him against Dad who wanted to take him out of school and move them yet again.

During the night Sam would have nightmares, the more often they moved and, with his father and brother constantly coming home tired and hurt, the worse they got. He would tend to his brother's wounds, though his father shunned help with his from either son wanting to shield them but, in fact, driving them slowly away, and towards each other. Dean would allow his siblings ministrations but seldom looked at Sam whilst he tended to him, but once the nightmare hit, Dean was there to comfort him and to tell Sam it would all be okay. He had always been a useless liar as Sam could see right through the untruths. But he would never admit it and let his big brother believe he had him convinced.

It had become difficult for Dean to hold his younger brother in the darkness for two crippling reasons. He dreaded the sound of Sam shouting, crying out in his sleep, that would come through the walls. Anything, _anything_ that hurt his brother was torture to him and having to rock him, comfort him, only being able to imagine what he was suffering inside his head, was painful to him. Yet Dean laid there at night, in the room next to Sam's, waiting for when he would have an excuse to crawl into the bed with him, a torture all of his own making.

At fourteen, Sam Winchester made Dean Winchester feel things he really should not, the only saving grace Dean could see was that Sam knew nothing about it. ===

=000=

When Sam Winchester was fifteen, he had grown into his body somewhat and was an inch taller than his brother. And he was angry, lonely and confused. He would be left on his own in the dismal rented house for days on end with the only plus point being, that he could get his homework done in peace. But he was fifteen, angry, lonely and confused.

He had had a few dates with a girl he kept bumping into at the school library, but always felt awkward and out of his depth. He had tried asking his older brother for advice but the teasing had not been worth the wisdom given and he did not follow through on any of it, the girl after all was also only fifteen.

It hurt too, that now, his brother would not let him help him with the cuts and scrapes on his families return from hunting either, and Sam felt he was being forced out of their lives a little at a time. Sure, there had been plenty of fight training and he knew his way around far too many sharp objects and guns, but at his age he knew the reason, they did not think he was good enough, grown up enough. His arguments with his father 'one-eightied', and now he threw a strop if he was told to stay at home and do his school work.

At nineteen, Dean Winchester was treated, if not like an equal by his father, then at least as a valid hunting partner and even trusted enough to be sent out on his own. He was growing into a man now, making the best of the life he had been raised to, and the last thing he needed was to come back to the latest place called home and constantly have yelling matches with his annoying little brother. But he was not little anymore, had not been for quite some time.

Sam hated the way Dean looked at him during those fights, but the whole reason he started them was so Dean would indeed, look at him. He was hardly ever there anymore, either out on a hunt or at a bar on a different kind of hunt. He had long since tired of hearing about his brother's sexual exploits with varied women and, telling him to shut up about it being to no avail, Sam had simply stopped listening. The stories made him kind of jealous, but the only one he would confide in and, could maybe help him understand why, was the one person he could not ask.

And at night, when he needed that comforting presence after he dreamt of death and fire, his brother was either not there to comfort him, or would kneel by the bed and talk to him but would not get in, would not hold him. Sam missed him. And in a way he was not entirely certain of yet, he wanted him close, he wanted Dean to hold him. He dreamt about that too.

Dean was tired, he was tired of the arguing, and he was tired of being in the middle. His brother was already crazy for the way he goaded their father and it was sending him that way too. He had given up keeping the peace and had finally lost it, yelling at his Dad too, before he thought better of it. He had gotten a dressing down, but Sam was on a hunt with them and, of course, had nearly gotten himself badly hurt.

Dean was still teenager enough himself to resent the fact that it was always his fault when baby bro messed up. It was never Sam's fault but his, for not protecting his younger brother, for not teaching his younger brother well enough, for not training his younger brother properly. Well, fuck his younger brother! And that's where it had all gone wrong, because that's why he had been ignoring his younger brother, had stayed away from him because, yes, Dean Winchester wanted to fuck his younger brother.

That was one of the main reasons he told Sam all about the women he slept with, especially when his brother would look at him a certain way, as it would get a rise out of Dean, literally. He would lay on the details thick, one, to see that blush, but also to convince himself. He did not tell Sam about the boys though.

And they were boys, Dean could not deny it. By societies standards his chosen partners were too young, he was not even old enough himself to drink, never mind be picking people up in bars and clubs. Yet fifteen and sixteen year olds could look older, just as he could pass for younger, and his partners always knew what they wanted, it was always mutual. Hell, he had only been fourteen himself the first time he'd let a man take him home. Older, rough, much like John Winchester in fact and Dean had known just what he wanted too. But that was a whole different story.

And he knew what he wanted now when he went to the gay bars, young, tall and slim with dark hair and if, in the night, he sometimes got their name wrong, no harm. Both got what they wanted, he knew his appeal and was seldom if ever turned down. But he could not chance that with Sammy, could not chance that he would run screaming from him, or worse, look at him with hurt or disgust in his eyes.

Sam hated that their father always blamed Dean for everything and he loved Dean for always taking the reprimand and not turning on him. Now he felt really guilty because he had let himself get hurt on purpose. Today was the first time in months his father had touched him, checking his wounds to make sure he was okay and then, had actually hugged him close, not for long and roughly but at least it made him feel his father remembered that he was there. Sometimes it was as if John Winchester only had one son, the one that could fight. And as soon as they were home safe, John restocked his supplies, left some money and was gone again. No goodbyes, just instructions for Dean to teach his brother how not to get hurt.

Now, sat on his bed wearing only faded jeans, Sam was so conscious of his brother behind him, the gentle fingers cleaning the cut on his shoulder and the breaths on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes, enjoying the attention.

Sam felt guilty straight away. Not because of the fingers on his naked skin or that he had to fold his hands in his lap so Dean would not see how good it felt, but because of the accusations their father had hurled at his brother. And knowing Dean, he would believe it was true, that it was his fault entirely. And Sam felt guilty because now, Dean would be spending more time with him and it made him happy.

"I'm sorry." Sam told his brother very quietly.

"Maybe when your sixteen." Dean said equally low in answer.

"Maybe what when I'm sixteen?" turning to look over his shoulder not understanding.

"What?" Had Sam read his mind? Fuck!

"What?" confused at the shock on Dean's face.

"Turn around and stop fidgeting." commanding as the elder tried to cover up his slip, relieved as he was obeyed. Dean continued to tend to the wound, telling himself not to get lost in thinking about the figure in front of him and how the torso was that of a youth and no longer a boy. Quickly he used cream and gauze then practically leapt off the bed pronouncing Sam done as he grabbed up the first aid supplies and moved to leave.

"Five weeks." Sam called to him stilling his brother's movement, not wanting him to go. Dean stopped in the doorway looking back at him askance. "Until I'm sixteen." Dean just blinked. "What's going to happen then?" but all he got was, "Ten minutes. Downstairs. And put a shirt on!" and Sam was left to get ready for the promised, threatened, fight training. -

Damn, he was sore. Sam ached in places he had forgotten existed and the training had proved their father right, he was out of practice, his school work had gotten in the way of training. And the fact that he was constantly being left on his own, he added angrily.

At first his plan, if you consider the half ill-conceived thought to be hopeless and have Dean needing to constantly touch him to show him what to do like when they were kids, worked. But after only five minutes of being constantly knocked on his ass, to the delight of the grinning elder Winchester boy, Sam had had enough and had fought back.

At least he would not be on his own tonight, as there was no way his brother would be out on the 'pull' with the black eye and split lip. Sam had to admit that it had been a lucky punch, and totally unsporting, as Dean had been talking. But then, that's how they had been trained, there was no such thing as a clean fight, you just got the job done. And he had been laid out on his ass within seconds with Dean stood over him staring down. Then his brother had declared practice over and practically fled. 'Probably to check he was still beautiful', he had thought uncharitably.

Sam lay backwards on his bed groaning and thought about Dean stood over him, staring down at him with lust in his eyes. That's what he saw now, lying here anyway. He closed his own eyes and let his imagination wonder followed by his hand.

Hearing footsteps he sat up, quickly checking the door, as his brother padded past heading for the bathroom. If Dean had bothered to look in, it would have been a close call, as Sam had forgotten to shut his door but his brother had had that 'gotta go' expression on his face again that Sam hated so much. Lately, whenever they got remotely close, that expression would appear and he would be left on his own as Dean 'ran off', usually into some woman's bed if his stories were to be believed, and he had no reason to doubt them. He despised that look.

He threw himself back on the bed, face down this time, wrapping his arms over his head, too pissed off to even think about having 'wrong thoughts' and thought about asking Jilly out to the movies or something instead.

Minutes had gone by and Sam removed his arms and listened. Yes, there it was again, a thud in the bathroom. He got up, moving onto the landing and crept up to the door. He heard another thud and also moaning. Pushing the door, he rushed in "Dean. What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Get out! Get the fuck out!"

"But you're hand, it's bleeding. What happened?" moving to him, oblivious to the panic and shame on his brother's face.

"Sam. Get the fuck out!" pushing him away, nearly slipping in the tub.

Confused, Sam slowly backed away and retreated from the room, closing the door softly as his brother sank down in the tub.

Dean curled up under the streaming water of the shower and cried. -

Sam was sat at the kitchen table, having prepared them something to eat, when Dean came down dressed to go out. He looked good still, despite the black eye, but with what he was planning, it would not make much difference anyway. He would have worse by morning as he knew where to go in this town to find what he wanted, what he needed. In a particular dive of a biker bar, the men were rough and there were a few who would like what he had to offer. He had been there before.

Dean would not look at him, instead he just grabbed the keys to the Impala and fled, leaving Sam there, even more alone than ever. He had noticed the bandaged hand and so had not imagined the bleeding knuckles. He thought back to the scene as he opened the bathroom door and dropped his head onto the table groaning, realising that he had walked in on his brother jerking off in the shower. No wonder he had screamed at him to get out. But why had he been thumping the wall?

Sam did not know, but he did know that it was going to be awkward for the foreseeable future. He looked at the meal he had gotten ready for them both and, standing dejectedly, threw it away. He had no appetite for food now either. ===

TBC===


	2. Chapter 2

He had been sat in the car for over half an hour, plucking up either the will or the courage to enter. He was unsure which he feared facing more, Sam or his father. The big black truck was parked at the side of the house and Dean had not been on a hunt or home when his father had returned. He hated when his Dad was disappointed in him, and when it involved Sammy, as in leaving him alone for no good reason, he was always disappointed.

Dean had a fantasy to just march in there and, in reply to the inevitable question, would just state the truth. 'My 'little' brother, who I want to fuck, caught me jerking off in the shower thinking about him, so instead, I went out and have spent the last two nights tied to a bed getting my brains fucked out by a man, who looked an awful lot like you Dad. He already gave me a good beating, so you don't need to.' Not that his father ever had, not from anger anyway, but he was still the better fighter, even now in his mid forties.

But if John did give him 'what for', it would still be preferable to facing Sammy. There was no way he had not seen what Dean had been doing in the bathroom. He had walked in on him while he had got his dick in his hand and had seen how he was punishing himself for it. Dean looked at his hand now, flexing the fingers, then turned the key in the ignition.

"Dean!" Sam called as he ran down the steps to stop him from driving away. He had watched his brother sit there since hearing the distinctive sound of the Impala pull up and could practically read Dean's mind. The car stopped and before his brother could prevent him, he jumped into the passenger seat. "If you're going to drive off again, you're taking me with you." Sam stated then sat there waiting.

Sighing, Dean switched off the engine and got out of the car. Sam watched, noting how stiffly he moved, as if he had been hurt but kept his distance and peace following Dean into the house, praying that Dad had listened to him and would not let rip against his oldest son.

"Dean."

"Sir?" not looking at him, just waiting.

John Winchester studied his eldest son, and once more cursed the day that Mary had been taken, murdered, and the lives they should have had, stolen. He could say or do nothing to punish his son for his neglect that would be half as bad as what he suspected Dean did to himself. "Get your gear. We've got a hunt and I need you. Sammy, we'll be gone for about a week."

"Yes Sir."

"No."

They both turned to look at the youngest member of the clan in disbelief, John at the audacity and Dean at the stupidity.

"What did you say?" and "Sammy, please." Both at the same time, but Sam stood up straight, looking into his father's eyes. "I said, no. Either you don't go or you take me with you. But I won't be left here on my own."

"You will do as you're told." controlled anger in John's voice. His sons had never argued that tone.

"No. Stop treating me like a kid!" Sounding petulant, Sam stopped the impulse to stamp a foot, or hit his father.

"Then stop acting like one. Dean, get your gear. Don't make me tell you again." And the eldest jumped to his command but his youngest just stood staring defiance and, he noticed for the first time, straight into his eyes. Sam did not physically look up to him anymore, and had also become stubborn. "I don't have time for this."

"You never do." Sam could have cried he felt so angry. His father had only been home a couple of hours and now they were both going to go off and leave him again.

"There's a suspected 'Harvester'. People are getting hurt. Killed!" Why could Sam never understand? Why did he always have to question everything?

"I don't care. People get hurt all the time."

"Sam! You don't mean that." begged Dean, dumping his duffle by his feet.

"Yes I do. All you both care about is swooping in, killing something and riding off into the sunset." waving his arms about emphatically.

"People need us." trying to reason with him, playing for time so that look would leave their father's face. Dean despised it when they fought like this and it was getting near every time they were in the same room.

"And what about me? What if I need you?" swinging around to look at Dean, who immediately looked like he had just been stabbed.

"Sam! Stop this. Dean, get in the truck." John Winchester ordered, his patience stretched to snapping.

Dean looked torn. He wanted to do as his father told him, but he could not leave his brother like this. He had been afraid to be near him, but now he was more afraid to leave him behind. Who knew what he would do? He turned to his father. "Couldn't he come with us?"

John swung to look at him furious but, seeing the pain in those clear green eyes so like Mary's, he relented, but only a little. "He's not ready. Proved that last time."

"That's not true!"

"Sammy shut up. Sir. Please. I'll watch out for him. He won't get hurt, I promise." Dean was earnest, his whole stance one of supplication.

"Like last time?" raising an eyebrow.

"That's not fair. It wasn't Dean's fault." Sam interjected angrily.

"No, it wasn't." John snapped, swinging back around to face Sam. "It was mine for thinking you could handle yourself. For thinking your brother had been training you properly." verbally slapping them both in the face, getting two distinctly different reactions.

"How can I learn if you won't let me do anything but stay at home?"

"I'm sorry. I'll do better, I promise." One brother looking up, one down.

He did have a point, John supposed, but he could not bare it if Sam got hurt, either of them, he admonished himself, but Dean could take care of himself. "You're still too young." trying for a reasoning, conciliatory tone.

It didn't work as Sam dragged in breath to start a fresh tirade, but Dean grabbed his arm and spoke quietly to his ear, "Go get your stuff." then turned to their father.

"Please, Sir. I'll look after him. He's right. He needs experience or he'll never be any good. And if we leave him, I think he'll just follow us." He would if it was him being left behind on his own.

John studied his oldest son, still a teenager himself but old past his years, and once more felt a regret so deep for what he had had to go through. "You'll watch out for him?"

"Yes, Sir."

"You won't let him get hurt?"

"No, Sir."

"You gonna tell me about the black eye, or why you're walking like you got you're ass beaten?"

Not his ass exactly, just the rest of him, but Dean could say nothing and just looked at the floor ashamed. "Okay." His father relented, knowing he was unlikely to be told the truth anytime soon, "But anything happens to him, I'll hold you responsible and, he rides in the car with you. I don't think I could put up with either of you at the moment. Get moving." He commanded signalling with a swift finger.

"Yes Sir." and Dean ran upstairs to get Sam, conscious of being scrutinised by his father. For an awful moment there, he had thought the man knew what he had been up to the last couple of days. But if John knew, Dean was sure he would be getting a beating far worse than any of those his 'lovers' had given him. -

Four hours into a trip, where Sam had managed to get one of his tapes chewed up and had rattled on about this and that making Dean smile inside, his brother had finally gotten to the point. "What did you say to him?" not needing to say who.

"That if you got hurt, I'd kick your ass." Dean answered with an affectionate smile.

Sam laughed, "What did you really say?"

There was no point not answering, but he watched the road for a while anyway until he was asked again. "So?"

"That you're an impatient pain in the ass." Dean sighed and glancing over, admitted, "I promised I'd watch out for you. Make sure you don't get hurt."

Sam was indignant, now his brother was treating him like he was a kid as well as their father. "I don't need watching out for!" anger coming from every pore.

"Now you're an ungrateful pain in my ass." concentrating on the blacktop in front of them.

"I can take care of myself."

"Uh-Uh."

"Owe! What the hell did you do that for?" rubbing at his head where the back of Dean's fist had just hit him.

"You didn't see that coming did you?" smirking but serious all the same.

"Damn it!" still rubbing his head, looking reproachfully at his brother.

"Seriously, Sammy. You gotta keep your eyes open. You gotta be ready. I promise, I'll look out for you, but I can't always be there. You gonna have to fend for yourself."

Still indignant, mainly at being caught off guard and proving his father right, Sam demanded, "For when you go off and leave me again? Who was she this time? A bartender? A Waitress? Some whore?"

"That's enough. You wanted to come. You're here. It was me that changed Dad's mind and I can just as easily take you back home." Ungrateful bastard and it had been far from easy. It would be damned hard to take him back as well. Dean loved having his brother in the car beside him, admittedly it was usually on the 'school run', but any time spent alone with Sam, that he allowed himself, he enjoyed, even in some weird way when they were fighting. He would then at least have his brother's full attention.

Sam sulked, cross-armed, staring out of the passenger window. Worst of all Dean was right. Dad would never listen to him but Dean was another matter. He sat and fumed. He was jealous about his brother and father's relationship. He wished his Dad thought as much about him, but he also wished his brother did too. "Why don't you like spending time with me any more?" then froze. How the hell had that thought slipped out?

Dean glanced at Sam, unsure he had heard him correctly and decided he had, but did not respond. Sam was not looking at him and he could easily wait for that conversation. But the silence got louder, despite the music booming from the speakers Dean had hustled hard to get the money for, and he found he had a lot less patience than Sam. "I'm sorry." heartfelt and barely audible over the classic rock.

"Then why?" Sam asked, the anger leaving as swiftly as it had come.

How could Dean tell him? He did not want to lie, but there was no way he could tell Sammy the truth. So he settled on telling him half of it, the safe half. "When I'm on a hunt, obviously I can't be here, but when I'm back I need time to myself. To unwind. And sometimes that means I want company. Female company." He added hastily, "Do you understand? Sammy, there are some things you just can't do for Me." said with a smile in his voice, while he lied to them both.

'I could if you let me', Sam thought, but that was only in his own twisted psyche. He knew that, and he was intelligent enough to be able to rationalise the lusting after his older brother. It was not as if he had not had enough time on his own to think about it. He was a teenager, and he was lonely, and the person closest to him, the one that had always been around when all else kept changing, was his brother. Sam found he had a lot of trouble making and maintaining any kind of friendship as they moved about so much, but Dean was constant. That was why, he was of the opinion, Dean slept with so many different women. His brother too, did not know how to form lasting relationships.

He had had far too much time to mope around and think. "I suppose." Sam grudgingly admitted. "But even when you're home you don't want to be with me."

"That's not true." Looking at him, but all Dean could see was the back of Sam's head. He turned the music down, glancing between the road and his brother. He had to keep Dad's truck in sight or there would be hell to pay if they got left behind. "I'm not going to talk to you if you won't look at me."

"You should be watching the road anyway."

Fifteen year olds could be such a pain in the ass. This one was at any rate. "Fine!" And the music blared once more, conversation over. ===

=000=

One toilet and food stop, and two and a half hours of loud not speaking later, Dean finally pulled into a motel parking lot next to the big black Dodge as his father jumped out and moved stiffly to Reception. They stayed put till signalled to follow and John handed Dean a key. "You two take that one. I'm next door so keep the noise down." And yawning, he turned and headed off, away from his room and, Dean thought, no doubt to the nearest bar. With Sam grabbing the key off him and letting himself into the room, Dean wished he could go with him.

He grabbed both bags from the car and entering threw one at Sam, "Forget something?" and was quietly pleased that his brother caught it before it hit him.

"Has Dad always been this cheap?" Sam asked disgustedly, looking around the room and moving to peer disdainfully into the bathroom.

"Yeah." Laughing as he, in turn inspected the nearest bed. It looked clean but very floral. But it was horizontal and, after quickly making the room secure, so was Dean. "At least we're not sharing a room with him."

Sam came out of the bathroom and stood looking down the length of his brother stretched out, arms akimbo. He smiled and sat on the bed next to him. "I promise I won't get in the way."

"You could never be in the way, Sammy." Dean assured him looking off at the wall.

"I'm fifteen not five. Don't call me 'Sammy'."

"Okay Samuel… Oomph" as a hand slapped him in the stomach.

"But thanks." Sam said, sounding sheepish.

Dean looked up at him from one eye. There was that blush he loved reddening Sam's cheeks and Dean raised himself up on elbows, watching his younger brother intently. "Thanks for what?"

Sam dropped his head, it was adorable, "For standing up to Dad for me and … for what you just said."

Dean turned on to his side, facing his brother, and pushed back the hair hanging over his eyes. Sam always looked like he needed a hair cut but Dean had given up telling him so years ago. The brunette strands fell forwards again so he repeated his action, as Sam turned to gaze down at him, and tried to tuck it behind his brother's ear but it would not stay.

Dean would probably have carried on but felt the hand pressing on his chest, then Sam leant in towards him. He rolled off the bed, away from him, unable to stifle the grown of protest from his aching muscles and abused skin. "Do you want first shower, or can I take it?" asking Sam, but not being able to look at him. There was no way Sam had been about to do what he longed for him to do. He had to get a grip on himself. He was imagining things.

"You can." Came the reply, and Dean fled into the small room, not noticing the dejection in his brother's eyes. ===

=000=

It took a long time for Sam to get to sleep that night, but not as long as Dean, as he lay there listening to his brother toss and turn, then finally sleep. It was not long before the nightmare started as Dean knew it would. They were on the road again and that always made it worse. Sam called out in his sleep and Dean went to him before his cries could wake their dad in the next room.

Kneeling by the bed, he stroked his brother's forehead whispering to him "It's alright Sammy. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you." Sam bucked in his sleep fighting something Dean could not know and he continued with his reassurances.

Slowly Sam settled, turning towards him as he continued to stroke his hair, his face. If Sam were aware, his heart would have swelled at the expression on his brother's face as he looked down at him. Dean looked on his younger brother with such love and compassion, a promise that he would always be there for him, he would do anything to keep him safe. He would go to the ends of the earth for him and beyond if it was what Sam needed him to do.

Finally, Sam lapsed into a peaceful sleep and, leaning over, Dean kissed his forehead chastely then returned to his own bed to also finally sleep. Grateful to the pain in his body, reminding him that he did not need Sam to fulfil that part of his life, he should never let himself succumb to the temptation. He would endeavour to protect Sam from all dangers, including those that he posed himself. ===

Another day in the car, another motel, and the three of them sat around the room keeping their own council whilst preparing weapons and themselves. The silence was heavy in the aftermath of the latest argument.

John was seething. If Sam thought he was old enough, good enough, to be an effective part of this hunt, he should be used in the most advantageous position. Amazingly his youngest son agreed with him, and it had made him sort of glow inside to know that Sam trusted him enough to believe he would be safe, that his father knew how to and, would protect him.

Sam kept glancing from one to the other of the men in the room with him. He could do this, he would not freak out and knew he would be safe. There was no way Dean would let him get hurt, no matter what happened. For once he actually agreed with Dad.

Dean felt off kilter. It just wasn't right. How dare their father put Sammy in such danger and how could Sam defend him? It went against everything he was used to, Sam siding with Dad against him. He always did what John wanted, usually without question, but this was different. This involved Sammy. This involved using his younger brother as bait. He would have to back down, but he did not have to like it and at this moment, he wished his father would just leave. Just go away and leave him and Sammy alone to get on with their lives.

He would make a good life for Sam, Dean knew he could. He could maybe get a job doing up cars, become a mechanic. He smiled to himself unaware that the others noticed. It would be a specialist garage, only dealing with classic and vintage cars, and he would never need to steal parts or hustle pool or people to keep his baby in top condition. He thought of the Impala and the day John had finally handed over the keys. Why could life not be like it had been on that day all the time? He was sure the sun had even been shinning.

And his other pride and joy would do well at school, and get into a good collage. His mind drifted off into summer vacations with Sam home helping him with the cars, and then later, with their kids running around getting underfoot as their wives laughed at their antics. It could be so good. He could make it so, he knew it.

"Can we get something to eat?"

"Sure, Sammy." In stereo and Dean and his father looked at each other, both with a realisation that perhaps John was being slowly replaced. It did not sit well with either of them, but for differing reasons.

"It's Sam." The youngest stated, oblivious to the renewed tension in the air.

John stood and retrieving his wallet, handed Sam some notes. "Go get us something from that Diner round the corner."

"Can't we go out?" reluctantly taking the money.

"No. I need to talk to your brother." And felt indignant once more at the look he received from his youngest son, as if he believed he was going to beat Dean or something.

"I won't be long." As if a warning and it kind of made John smile at Sam's back as he slammed out of the room feeling excluded yet again.

John turned to his other son, who just sat staring at the gun part he'd been cleaning held limply in his hand. "Do you honestly think I would put your brother in danger needlessly?" and felt a stab at the look he received before the head ducked again. He moved over, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. He was not used to being in conflict with this, his normally obedient child. Man, he had to remind himself, and an obviously very protective one. Well, that's what he had asked of him all those years ago, and, he thought ruefully, that maybe now it was coming back to bite him in the ass.

Dean slumped a little under the weight and sighing said, "No, Sir." giving up, not easily, but the immediate future was inevitable. He would obey his father and trust in him.

John pulled around the other hard chair and sat facing his son. "Is there something you want to say to me?" his tone light and confidential. He could sense so much going on in that head or, more accurately, heart and was sure Dean was in pain and not just in the way he moved.

"I don't think Sammy is cut out for this life. I want him to have a different one." Dean did not get many chances to really talk to his father like this so he took it.

John sighed, wanting Dean to look at him, wishing that maybe he would think about himself a little more and his brother a little less. "I wanted, planned a different life for all of us, but that's not going to happen. We just have to make the best of it and ensure that Sammy is equipped to survive the one we have." It tore his heart that his words made Dean look close to tears. "But enough of Sam. I meant you. Is there anything you want to tell me, about you?"

"No, Sir." There was so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted his father to admit, but Dean just stared at the floor, looking through the ugly nylon carpet.

John hesitated, then put his rough hand against his son's face, cupping his jaw gently, lifting his face, encouraging him to finally look at him. His thumb very lightly brushed against the bruised skin around the eye. "And this?"

Dean, with a slight laugh, "Sam got a good one past me." and smiled fondly.

"And these?" as John touched his son's stomach with his other hand. He had taken an educated guess from the way he had been moving and, sure enough, Dean winced as the fingers prodded his ribs. But his son just pulled away, leaning back in the chair saying nothing, looking at nothing. Well, he had tried, but he would not push, so standing wearily, he cupped Dean's face once more adding, "If you change your mind, speak to me. I'll try to help if I can." he knew there was something, his son was hurting but he was not exactly sure how or why.

It was sudden, and John found himself startled as Dean grabbed onto him, still sat there but arms around his waist, holding on tightly, face pushed into his stomach. He regretted his hesitation, then enfolded him back, hand stroking his head. It should have been automatic but John had had to think about it. Then he waited.

"Dad? When we finish here, can you… stay with us for a while? Sammy needs you around and I .. I want you around. Just for a while?"

He heard the yearning, the 'd' word and not 'sir', but life was life, "That depends on what's out there."

Dean stiffened, pulling back to look up at him. Slight accusation in his voice and thinking of Sam, always thinking of Sam, "But its Sam's birthday in a month. Can't you even stay for that? He's gonna be sixteen. Sixteen Dad! It's important. He won't be a kid anymore. Do you remember my sixteenth birthday?"

John thought back, but no, he could not, "No, I don't. What did we do?"

Dean pulled away and stood, throwing the barrel onto the table, "Nothing! You weren't there! Sam baked me a cake. Nearly set fire to the kitchen and it tasted awful, but I ate it. I ate it all because he baked me a cake for my sixteenth birthday and you, weren't, there. You didn't even remember. No card, no present, not that I expected one, but you didn't even remember." And then the rising anger and resentment just disappeared, he did not have the energy for it. "_Please._ Don't make me be the only one to remember Sam's sixteenth birthday."

"No."

Dean could have hit him right then and there. "_No?_ Why the Hell not?"

"Don't you dare raise your voice to me, boy!"

Dean did not apologise but John let it go, he could not stand to see that much hurt in his son's eyes. He calmed down, "I meant, I won't make you be the only one."

Oh, the look of hope and relief on the young man's face tugged at his heart once more, and he moved to his son, just as the door opened and Sam came in with the smell of food. John and Dean just looked at each other, and he knew, that if he was not there for Sam's birthday, Dean would never forgive him, and he would never be able to look his eldest child in the eyes again. ===

TBC===


	3. Chapter 3

Sam felt good. He hurt in so many places, but he felt good. He had held his end up, no matter that he had been so shit scared, wondering about in the dark, trying to act lost and not as if he knew he was a tasty morsel for the ugliest thing he had ever seen walking on two legs. They told him it had been human once, but the diet of human hearts and other vital organs over the years, had transformed it into the disease ridden creature from myth and nightmare. A kind of cannibalistic vampire, he supposed. Not a true Wendigo, because this one had made a conscious decision in an attempt to prolong life. It had worked as people, or rather teenage boys, had been 'harvested' for generations.

And people paid money to see movies about this kind of thing! All he wanted was a shower, some antiseptic, and Dean to stop hitting him on the shoulder praising him. Not that he disliked the attention, but it hurt and he did not want him to know how much or the mood would change.

Once more, a night spent tending wounds in a motel but the atmosphere was one of pumped up relief. Even Dad had seemed happy with him, once the thing was dead, salted and burnt, and he stopped yelling orders. John had checked he was okay and, actually clutched his shoulder, standing looking at him as he said, "You did good, Son." He had replied with a respectful, "Thankyou, Sir" and could practically feel Dean behind him grinning from ear to ear at hearing their father's praise. And, as John moved off, the first of the slaps to his shoulders began, followed by a conspiratorial arm slung across them leading him back to the car.

"I knew you'd be fine. He won't be able to argue the next time. I'm proud of you." Dean grinned as wide as a Cheshire Cat.

And that made Sam feel fantastic and guilty, all at the same time. He swelled at the praise from both his brother and father but he did not want to spend all his time on hunts. What he had wanted was for his family to spend time with him. He had wanted them to stay with him, not for him to be dragged half way across the country.

But he could say nothing. The joy and pride evident on Dean's face was worth the scrapes and bruises, but this life was not for him. He already had a plan and it did not include doing this. He had not worked out any of the details yet, but it did not involve hunting.

Putting that aside, Sam leant into his big brother, wrapping his arm around Dean's back, laughing with him as they headed for the Impala. ===

=000=

"Dean. Please. Stay with me." He sat up reaching a hand out to catch at his brother's shirt as he rose to leave, keeping hold of it as Dean sank back down to sit on the edge of the bed, something he had avoided doing for quite some time now.

They may have been successful and on their way 'home', but it had not stopped the sound of Sam fighting, shouting in his sleep, coming through the thin wall to John's room, where Dean and his father had been sat, beers in hand talking about the youngest Winchester.

"I'm sorry I woke you. I didn't mean to. Can you remember it?" if he could sooth Sam back to sleep without him waking, he seldom carried the images into the waking world, but he could tell by the haunted look in the eyes that this nightmare had followed him.

Sam shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, head drooping as he fought off sleep. He was exhausted, but the thought of returning to that burning room, of not being able to reach, first his brother, then his father and a vague shape he believed to be his mother, terrified him as much as the dream had. He wanted to cry but not in front of Dean, but then a hand chose to push his hair back and hold onto his cheek, pushing his head up and his throat tightened as he fought hard to hold back the moisture.

Looking into those liquid eyes, Dean's throat tightened too, and he said thickly, "Tell me. You'll feel better I'm sure." But Sam just shook his head. "Lie back down then. Go back to sleep."

But Sam refused. "Stay with me?"

"Okay. Lie back and I'll sit here." stroking his brother's hair back once more.

"No. Please, Dean. Sleep here with me."

Sam's eyes looked so yearning and, although Dean knew the last thing he needed was to be that close to his brother if he was to keep himself in check, he could not bring himself to deny the desperation staring at him. He could never be that cruel. He stood up and Sam begged, "Please. Don't leave me."

"I'm not. Move over and keep those humungous feet off me." And stripping off shirt and jeans, Dean lifted the covers to slide in next to him and enclosed his brother in his arms. Sam immediately clung to him, sighing into his neck.

This was so difficult. Dean fidgeted trying to keep Sam away from any indication of the effect his proximity was causing him, but his brother would not co-operate, pushing onto him, snuggling as close as he could get. He pulled on a shoulder trying to pull Sam back, speaking softly, "Let up. I can hardly breath." And reluctantly Sam rolled backwards off him.

Turning on his side, he stroked the hair off Sam's forehead and murmured for him to go to sleep, it was going to be alright, he would never leave him, and slowly as he watched in the dim light, Sam's eyes flickered closed and his breathing became that of slumber. Dean continued to play with his hair and promised, "I will never leave you Sammy. I couldn't." ===

=000=

"You said you were going to stay for my birthday." But of course his father was packed and ready to head off out again. He should know better than to think his dad was bothered enough to stay.

"It's not for days. I'll be back in time. But I have to go," frowning. It was getting near every time he was about to leave, Sam began acting more and more like a little kid.

"Why? You only just got back. You could stay till after." Sam truly wanted his Dad around.

"And how many more people do you want this thing to kill while I sit around blowing up balloons?" John's tone was angry.

"None…Sir," he added after a pause resigned.

"Don't worry, Sammy. Dad will be back in time. He promised. Didn't you." and Dean fixed his father with a stare that communicated volumes and it was not lost on John.

If he ever wanted peace with his sons, he was going to have to get back in time. But to be backed into a corner like this really stuck in his craw. "Yes." Looking at Dean not Sam, "But now I've got to go," and angrily left, even the truck sounding in a bad mood as it peeled away from the house.

"He's not going to be here, is he?" Sam asked, turning a resigned glance at his brother.

'He fuckin' better be', Dean vowed but turned a smile to Sam, "He will." How many times had that man made him a liar he wondered? Changing the subject, trying to distract Sam from the sulk he was heading into, "So. What do you want to do tonight? Movies? Pizza? Learn poker? What?"

"Got homework." Sam mumbled and ran off, up the stairs.

Dean had an awful feeling that Sam was close to tears. 'It's those mutant teenage hormones' he thought grinning and then had a stab of envy. He had never had time to be a 'teenager'. Sometimes he thought he had gone from four to ten to thirty in about five years, no matter what it said on his birth certificate. He stood at a loss debating what he should do. No choice really, and moved to the stairs, loping up, then he entered Sam's room to see him stretched out on the bed, face buried in his pillow, foot kicking against the mattress.

Sitting on the side of his bed, Dean placed a gentle hand in the hollow of Sam's back, shaking him slightly and against his better judgement left it there. Sam rose up onto his forearms, head pushing against the pillow. "What did Dad get me for my birthday or haven't you bought it yet?"

Dean smiled, no one could ever consider his brother naive. "A Personal Disc player, so you can listen to all that … chirpy stuff you like."

"Without you having to?"

Dean was relieved at the humour in Sam's voice. "As if," and found his hand stroking up and down slightly, and Sam relaxed back down but this time resting his cheek on folded arms watching him.

"And what about you? Please tell me you haven't got me some old, sorry, _classic_ rock tape you've been after again. Or something to kill things with?" causing his brother to laugh. Sam pushed his butt up ever so slightly as Dean's hand moved in that direction. Dean was looking at him with an almost wistful expression and wondered if he was consciously caressing his back. He hoped so.

Dean had wanted to get something Sam would really want and had not come up with anything. He wanted it to be clever and apt, but he was struggling. He admitted, "I didn't buy you anything."

"Oh," disappointment evident.

"No. Instead, I thought we could spend the day doing whatever you wanted to." It was pretty inspired, he thought, as Sam had been bitching about not spending enough time together.

"Anything?" asked hopefully.

"Yep…. But I'm not taking you to a brothel." Laughing, figuring Sam would not have thought of it anyway, "Or a museum….. Unless you really want too." He would, and he would do his damnedest not to yawn all the way around.

"Yeah right. I can just imagine that." talking to distract Dean as he turned over, surreptitiously getting his t-shirt to ride up, and stretched out, arms now folded under his head, just praying that Dean did not take his hand away.

Dean suddenly became very conscious of bare skin, soft bare skin stretched over muscle, under his hand and about to snatch it away, thought better of it, not wanting to draw attention to where his hand had ended up. 'Damn it, Dean. You are so screwed', as that instant of awareness had sent a flip to his belly and his prick became uncomfortable in his jeans.

"Anything?" Sam asked wanting to make certain.

"Yes."

"You promise?"

"Yes." Dean was getting nervous now. Sam obviously had something in mind and he wondered what he had let himself in for. He had to move his hand before he did something he would regret, and reluctantly pulled it back to rest on his bent knee on the bed. Sam blinked slowly at him, which was kinda weird. There was a look on his face he had never seen there before and it put a few years on him. It was a look he recognised. He must be mistaken.

"I want my present now." all or nothing. Sam was not blind. These last couple of weeks, he had been paying very close attention, and he had come to the realisation that Dean might just not be as disgusted with his fantasies as he had previously thought. He was going to go for it, all or nothing.

"What?" Dean asked laughing a little nervously, "You can't wait three days?" still puzzling over the adult expression on his young brother's face.

"No." and he gave him a smile that made Dean shift slightly and go warm. 'Got you', Sam thought.

Damn, but Sam had just 'grown up' in front of his eyes. Dean barely dared to breathe. He had to be wrong. This could not be possible, but Sam was so slowly sitting up, and he felt mesmerised as he stared into those eyes, darker than his own. And then Sam leant in and kissed him.

Dean was too stunned to move and by the time he tried to pull back, Sam had a hand on the back of his head and his other was on his side reaching around his back and he was pulled forwards.

Dean's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him off, but Sam could tell there was no real conviction. He kissed him the best he knew how and dared to lick at Dean's lips seeking a response. There was an almost sob, and then Dean kissed him back, softly, his hands now holding his shoulders. And it got so much better. Dean was so much better at kissing than he was, so Sam let him lead the way but sensed he was holding back.

Dean wanted to have it all but refrained, he did not thrust his tongue in to 'ravage' his brother's mouth, he did not force Sam down to the bed as he so wanted to, he just kissed him, trying to be tender but passionate at the same time. Enough, he had to breath and this time, as he pulled away from Sam's lips it was mutual. Both sat there breathing hard, searching each other's face. He put fingers to Sam's cheek. He wanted to ask if he knew what he was doing, if he was sure, but all he could do was breath out, "Sammy."

Not letting go of his brother, Sam clumsily got to his knees and without finesse began pulling off Dean's shirt, getting it snagged on his watch, then started on his t-shirt getting him so caught up he felt inept as his brother had to extricate himself. Dean did not mock him, but sat there bare-chested, looking up at him, just waiting.

It was Dean's younger brother that forced _him_ down to the bed, swinging a leg round to straddle his hips, sitting almost painfully on his now obvious arousal. His hands came up to the narrow waist, still not filled out as it would surely within a year or so, but he was trim and firm under his hands. Then Sam leant down and was kissing him once more, egger, adamant and what Sam lacked in experience, he was making up for with ardour.

Sam could scarcely believe Dean was allowing him to do this, expecting his brother to stop him at any moment, but until he did, Sam wanted to taste him, to touch him, to feel him. He experimented and rubbed his prick, swollen in his baggy jeans, against the hard bulge in Dean's much tighter ones, causing his brother to moan, pushing his hips up to meet him and, as his mouth opened with a sound of almost pain, he thrust his tongue in to be met by Dean's.

It had never been like this before. The few girls Sam had kissed had never let him do this, had never responded like this, so hot and moist and then Dean closed his mouth, sucking on his tongue and he felt so much sensation pulling him he thought he would cum. Sam stilled his movement but his brother kept pushing up onto him, and he knew he could not control himself well enough if he kept rubbing against him.

He broke the kiss and raised himself up onto hands and knees just staring down at the sight of his brother licking his lips, panting as his hands clutched at him, trying to pull him back down. "Please. Sammy." His brother begged him, "You're killing me here." And pushed himself up to sit to capture Sam's mouth again, running a hand down his arm to grab a hand and guide it to the fastening on his jeans.

Sam fumbled again and could not get it open with one hand, so sat back ripping his lips from Dean and unfastened his pants, pushing them and his briefs down enough to slip a hand in, then he was feeling his brother's hard prick.

It was awkward and with no skill, but Sam had his hand on his prick and Dean forced his pelvis up, demanding firmer contact as he forced himself to remain there and not throw Sam off him, under him. All those boys may have been better, more accomplished at jerking him off, but this was Sammy, and it took no time at all before he had him pumping, covering that large beautiful hand with warmth as he shuddered, gasping loudly, matched by a surprised sound from his brother.

He fell back limp, watching Sam through his leaden lids as he sat heavily on Dean's thighs, pulling his hand from his jeans. The hand on his belly felt as if it could push into his soul as Sam leant on him, studying his covered hand fascinated. He smiled softly at the concentration as Sam lifted his hand to sniff and then he went to taste.

Panic and Dean surged up grabbing Sam's wrist. He had always been careful, but he could not take the risk. He knew now he would be heading down to the clinic tomorrow to get another test. He ignored the shocked look on Sam's face and managing to retrieve his t-shirt, with Sam still sat on him, he gently cleaned his cum from the long fingers and palm.

Done, he dropped the fabric onto the floor and, lifting his eyes and hand to the face watching him intently, he ran his thumb across the kiss swollen bottom lip and, other hand pulling at Sam's top, he encouraged him to climb off him and moved Sam to sit on the bed while he settled, kneeling on the floor between his brother's legs. Keeping eye contact all the time, he ran his hands up the inside of Sam's thighs, pushing then further apart, enjoying the look of anticipated excitement on the youngster's face.

Dean was going to go down on him! Sam's cock became so hard, he thought it might break if Dean was not careful. He stared deep into clear green eyes as fingers undid his jeans and, pushing himself up off the bed on taut arms, he was exposed to the air and his 'partner' as his clothes were pulled down.

Hands on Sam's narrow hips pushing him to sit, Dean leant forwards and kissed him slow and deep as he ran his hands up the narrow sides. Not breaking the kiss, Dean used his own to remove Sam's hands from him and placed them on the bed so he was leaning back once more on straight arms. Then he kissed his way to his brother's neck, nipping at the jaw line and, pushing up Sam's shirt, worked his way down the smooth skin eliciting soft groans. Dean smiled against Sam's chest, just before he took one of the tender nipples between his lips. Licking with just the tip of his tongue, he once again had to push Sam's hips back down to the bed as he thrust up.

He was not going to rush this. He was not sure if Sam had ever had anyone go down on him before, he did not think so, but whether he had or not, Dean was going to do his best to make this, the first time between them, something that Sam would never forget. His thumbs began to massage, digging into the crease of hip and leg and he very gently, bit the nub between his lips.

Sam's whole body surged upwards, an arm grabbing at the back of Dean's neck, his feet pushing against the floor. Nothing anyone had ever done before had made him feel like this, his fantasies had been pale imitations to the reality of Dean's fingers digging into the flesh on his hips, his thumbs pushing closer and closer to his prick. Teeth pulled lightly at his nipple and he whimpered.

His hand slipped on the bed and he collapsed back and stayed there as Dean proceeded to kiss and suck his way to the centre of his chest, then down, agonisingly slowly, to his navel, tongue pushing in then licking along the line of hair heading closer and closer. Dean's jaw grazed against his shaft making him hiss, then he placed his hands on each side of Dean's head pushing him down. His wrists were grabbed and held away from his brother's head as Dean knelt up to look at him, then with a grin, kissed the top of Sam's inner thigh then licked delicately from his ball sack, up to the tip of his prick.

Sam was arching off the bed again and as Dean let go of his hands, he placed one of his own on Sam's belly and curled his other around Sam's prick, thinking it was just like the rest of him, long and not too slender, and just how far it would be able to reach inside of him. He slid his hand along so his thumb could gently rub across the end smearing the pre-cum, then he dipped his head once more and copied the action with his tongue.

As Dean obviously did not want his head held, Sam held his own, his elbows sticking out as he once more raised his hips, a sob of a groan he could not contain as his brother's lips closed around the head of his cock. The sensation was a whole new world to him never having been this intimate with anyone, and if Dean had not held his root so secure, he would have cum there and then, but still he could not hold out for long and as Dean began to take him further into his warm mouth, sucking him in he knew that was it.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmured unsure whether to himself or his brother as Dean's mouth pulled along his prick, his lips tight, catching just under the head tugging gently and Sam practically exploded his hands covering his mouth as he felt himself wanting to scream. He shuddered and crumpled to the bed with a couple more gentler spasms as Dean licked at him, cleaning him, then let him go.

Dean pushed himself up to lean over Sam, anxious to make sure he was alright, and moved to lie next to him on his side. Leaning head in hand, raised up on bent elbow, he used his other hand to pull Sam's away from his mouth, smiling at the expression on his face as the eyes turned to look at him. Amazement, wonder and contentment, all at the same time. He ran his fingers tips down Sam's cheek, across his lips, then up to brush that fringe from his eyes.

Sam wanted to say something, but the words would not come and he just continued to gaze at his brother, his own lips smiling in response to Dean's. Then his brother was rolling forwards and he welcomed him, tasting what must in essence be from himself as Dean kissed him deeply and forever. Then Dean once more rolled over, onto his back, arm under his head and stared upwards, that smile on his lips again.

Sam wriggled until he got himself comfortable, cheek on folded arms on his brother's chest, body curled on the bed ignoring the tangle of his jeans and his backside sticking out. He looked up at his brother as he also raised his head to look down, his free hand coming to lie on Sam's shoulder, fingers playing with the shorter hair at his nape. They remained like that, both with their own thoughts in a contented silence until Sam asked, "So, what are we doing for my birthday?" and Dean just laughed. ===

TBC===


	4. Chapter 4

Suddenly awake, Dean lay listening. He gently but firmly pushed Sam off him, trying not to disturb him as he extricated himself from the bed. Still listening, he slipped on his discarded boxers and picked up the gun from the nightstand. Cautiously moving to the door glancing back at Sam, he saw the glint of open eyes and signalled him to be still and quiet as he moved to the landing.

Descending the stairs, he had the figure in the sights of his gun when he heard the swearing and let up as he recognised the 'intruder'. He reached the hall and switched on the light causing John to swing around gun also raised then dropping instantly. "You made it then." He was both relieved and happy smiling at his father.

"Didn't think I really had a choice." also smiling. "You two okay?"

Dean was so glad it was Sam who was prone to blushing and not him. "We're great." as he heard his brother on the stairs.

John looked past him, "Happy Birthday, Son."

"Thankyou, Sir." And Sam moved down to stand next to his father, hoping for a hug or something.

"Got you something." And John moved to his bag and handed over a badly wrapped bundle.

Sam looked at it suspiciously and unwrapping it was not disappointed. "Thanks." as he held up yet another wickedly sharp nasty looking blade.

"You're gonna need it if you want to go hunting with us." and was confused at the look on Sam's face. John placed a hand on his son's shoulder squeezing firmly and studied him.

Dean felt panic building. John was scrutinizing Sam and looked like he smelt something, appearing puzzled. Could he possibly smell it on him? Could he tell what they had been doing? Their Dad had keen senses, it was what had kept him, them, alive for so long. He could hardly breath, then John looked over at him questioningly and Dean thought his world was about to explode.

Giving Sam's shoulder another squeeze, Winchester senior said, "I'm beat. Gonna sleep for a few hours then we can do something if you want." Smiling at them both in turn then heading for the stairs.

Sam turned to Dean holding up the lethal present and smirked, waggling it, "Guess he doesn't know about the disc player." But he was surprisingly happy. Three o'clock in the morning, but his dad had made it home and would be here on his birthday, when he got up. That had probably been the idea but, Dean slept light.

Dean grinned back at Sam's happy expression, so relieved that Dad had made it and also that he had woken. Imagine if he had turned up and decided to check on Sam. If he had walked in and found them in bed together? Nothing he had not seen before while they had grown up, but not with them naked, tangled and no doubt stinking of sex.

He thought of Sam's legs wrapped around him, never seeming to be enough room in the bed for them. Dean had spent years with those bony knees digging into him and he got a flashback to the night before, those same knees forcing, pushing his own apart. He sighed and then Sam was there, right in front of him, kissing him and he fell into the embrace, Sam's large hands on him holding him, pulling him close.

Sam did not know exactly what Dean had been thinking, but stood there, in the light of the bare bulb, colour had suffused his cheeks and the only word that Sam could think of right then to describe him was, fuckable. Then, seeing the slight bulging in Dean's shorts, he had gone for him.

"Sam, please. We can't. Dad."

"We just have to be quiet then. Come on I want to go back to bed." breathed into his ear.

"You quiet? Never." Smirking, half tempted, but they could not dare.

"Have to be the kitchen table then." Trying to sound provocative and all grown up, but the blush and the uncertain look shattered the illusion. But Dean's response was immediate as his hardening prick pressed against Sam's thigh and he just pulled him in for another kiss, then started to move them awkwardly towards said kitchen.

Where had Sam got that one from? "Some times I seriously wonder what you watch when you're alone." Smiling, he could just imagine Sam wanting to try out something he had seen, but he had still gotten so embarrassed last night, blushing, asking him tentively, breathlessly, if Dean would let him fuck him. He nearly went over backwards, only Sam's surprisingly strong arms keeping them up right. He had tripped over one of those long legs.

Laughing also around the kiss Sam, pushed Dean up against the ancient fridge stating, "You're the one that hooked up next doors cable."

"Only cause you wanted to watch 'Sesame Street'." and Dean got a mild punch for his trouble. "Hey, less of the violence." Keeping his tone light, but he did not want that now, not from his Sammy, never from Sam. His brother looked so contrite, Dean could do nothing but pull him close and kiss him with everything he was, making it possibly the deepest, most important kiss he had ever had. Ending, he just wrapped his arms around Sam and held him whilst pushing his face into his neck.

Sam stroked the back of Dean's neck, then his arms, his teenage eager passion having become something more. He felt like he had gained an understanding, had perhaps aged more than just one day, a birthday. "Dean." low voice containing this new found maturity, "I want to make love to you." And he did. He did not want to have sex or to fuck. Now he was certain he knew the difference.

Dean squeezed his eyes closed, his lips against Sam's neck, holding onto him tighter. He craved nothing more but they could not. It was too dangerous with their father home. If he caught them, Dean knew he would get the blame and he would accept it, but whatever punishment his father doled out, nothing would be worse than being separated from Sam and he knew Dad would make certain of that. "We daren't."

Sam ran fingers down the centre of his back, still caressing him, "He won't hear us down here." His other hand stroking the side of his face, tracing around his ear. "Please, Dean" lifting his head so he could kiss him again. He was melting against him and Sam pushed his hand under the band on Dean's briefs, cupping his buttock, his fingers dipping into the divide.

"No, Sam."

"But you said that today we could do anything I wanted."

"Don't. You know we've gone way past that."

Sam felt ashamed, he should not be trying to coerce his brother. But he wanted him so much, he wanted to be in him again, to feel him. He kissed him, pushing up against him, explaining with his body where his words were failing. He practically lifted Dean off his feet, moving him around to sit back against the table making it screech along the floor.

Panicked, Dean pushed Sam off as he listened intently for any sign of movement from upstairs, then turned to look Sam seriously in the face, but he could tell his brother was not going to let up. He tried once more to reason with him, knowing it was useless. The answer was pressing into his own as Sam stood so close pushed against him, between his legs. "The condoms are upstairs."

"We don't need them. I want to feel you."

"I told you. Not till I get the results back."

"I don't care. I trust you."

"You shouldn't."

"Why not?"

Oh Dean would never be able to answer that one, not to Sammy.

"You've been careful haven't you?"

"Yes. But I want to be sure. You're too precious to me to chance it." After all he had done, all the people he had 'done', Dean needed to be sure. He would not be able to live with himself if he in anyway endangered Sam.

Sam held the older brother's face in his hand by his jaw and studied those eyes. He had been going to make some derisive remark about his vocabulary until looking into those eyes. "Precious?" he asked seriously.

Dean smiled sheepishly, "Yes."

Sam stepped back, running his hand down Dean's arm and taking hold of his hand, gently pulled him to standing. He turned to leave the kitchen, looking back over his shoulder, a question in his eyes, eyebrows raised.

'Yes'. Dean answered silently as he let himself follow as Sam led him by the hand towards the stairs and upwards. 'You are the most precious thing in my life. The most, the only, important thing'. And he knew Sam would be able to lead him anywhere, to do anything. He would always put Sam's needs and wants before his own. He would always protect him. He always had. Hell, he would probably sell his soul if it would keep Sammy safe.

Sam had always managed to get Dean to let him have what he wanted eventually, but this was in a whole new league. Sam knew they were risking a lot with their father in the house but, looking down at his brother, looking up at him as he led him up the stairs holding onto his hand, he would be willing to risk anything. He turned back and made his way to Dean's room.

Prudence dictated that they use the room furthest from their father's, but he wanted to love Dean in his own bed. They had so far only used Sam's, Dean stealing in, but this time they entered together, Dean still holding onto his hand as he leant an ear towards the door at the end of the landing, then satisfied, closed his very quietly. He turned and stood looking at him.

Once more Sam pulled on that hand and Dean let himself be pulled into a loose embrace, his brother's long fingers touching his face whilst gazing at him intently as if seeing him for the first time. Sam smiled as he felt the smooth skin on Dean's face, the stubble not having time to grow back in. It was just like Dean to have thought of everything, shaving before he slipped into his bed the night before so his face would not become sore again as it had on that first afternoon, only three days ago. Now he felt like he had known Dean intimately for ever, whilst every touch was a whole new world.

Dean loved it when Sam touched his face like that. He could not remember anyone else ever having done it. He stood waiting, still determined that he would not force Sam into anything, but mainly because he wanted to see what Sam would do. He fascinated him, intrigued him and just the touch of his fingers and the way he was looking at him, was turning him on so much. It was the look of love, no doubt about it.

Leaning forwards, Sam kissed Dean's fuller lips lightly as he pushed his own underwear down, stepping out of it, then relieving his brother of his, guided him to the bed, a hand gently placed on his chest as he stooped to pull back the covers.

Dean let himself be positioned on the bed, watching Sam's face all the time. He had changed, grown in the last couple of days and although there was no way he would ever regret what they had done, what they were doing now, he had a slight pang of loss for his baby brother. This person, now climbing onto the bed, onto him, if not a man yet was fast becoming one.

Sam laid full length on top of Dean whose body immediately moulded to accommodate him as if that was what he had been designed for. Pushing himself up, he stared intently at the face beneath him, wanting to examine every detail, the beautiful green eyes now hooded and glazed with want, his lashes golden in the yellow light of the electric bulb. His skin was pale and Sam marvelled that he had never noticed before, just how freckled he was now he was older considering he spent most of his time out of the sun. Dean's life contained so much darkness, and Sam wanted to make up for that.

Looking at those lips, slightly parted, just waiting, he could not deny him longer. Moving his hips, Sam ducked down and captured that mouth, kissing Dean intently but with love, not lust, falling into him, onto him, being embraced and welcomed in return. Sam moved slowly wanting to feel every inch of the freckled flesh on his own. Squirming slightly, he moved with no finesse, just a desire to experience and his hands touched Dean wherever he could.

Dean ignored the slight discomforts at Sam's inexperience, sliding his own body to accommodate his brother's movements. Sam might have very little acquired skill but that was wonderful to Dean, for he was his brother's first, he knew without doubt now, and Sam's experimental touch was like a fresh new world to him. It almost made Dean feel like he had been innocent and naive once, discovering there was a part of life where two people could come together and just, 'be' for each other.

Dean moved a leg, lifting his knee and ran his hands down Sam's back to hold on to his buttocks, encouraging him to slip between his legs. Still kissing him, Sam ran his hands down Dean's sides, circling his hips, then over and forced them down onto Dean's inner thighs, pushing them apart unaware how hard his movements had pushed his pelvis onto Dean's.

The line between pleasure and pain, and Dean's head forced back as he bit at his own bottom lip unable to hold in the gasp at the pressure of Sam's pelvis crushing him as the movement put most of the youngster's weight onto his own. But it soon eased up as Sam began a slow exploration, starting at the corner of his mouth, moving towards chin, then down the stretched neck, open and exposed, his lips whispering over skin then pausing to taste.

Sam spent a long time just lightly kissing across Dean's chest, then circling and licking at an attentive nipple causing his brother to moan softly, then louder as he bit down, oh so gently. His hands were lightly on his sides as he moved on across to the other tight nub, keeping all his actions gentle and loving. His brothers hands were ghosting over his back equally lightly, taking his lead from Sam as he had right from the first time Sam had kissed the older sibling. If Sam wanted to be gentle Dean would be gentle and, Sam had no doubt that if he wanted to be 'rough', Dean would not stop him. But that was the last thing on his mind. He wanted Dean to know just how much he loved him.

But Sam was a teenage boy, and he wanted to feel that fantastic sensation, of being embedded inside a hot responsive body, inside Dean's hot and so responsive body. And he could not wait any longer. He reached over, his long arm easily spanning the distance to Dean's bedside cabinet. Opening the drawer on the old and cheep furniture, the wood squealed as it grated causing them both to still knowing the need for quiet.

Pulling out a condom and the tube of lube, Sam passed both to Dean as he knelt back on his heels and watched intently as his brother ripped open the packet, then sitting up also, took Sam's prick in gentle hands and rolled the rubber onto him. Sam's hands lay on Dean's shoulders, his forehead coming to rest on Dean's as he swallowed hard, waiting as his brother squeezed out some lube rubbing it onto him. It was such an intimate act even though Sam wished Dean would not insist on using one.

Finished, Dean lay back lifting his knees, smiling up at the look of wonder on Sam's face. It was as if his brother still could not believe that they were doing this. Hell, he could hardly credit it himself. He reached up gentle fingertips to Sam's jaw, pulling him from wherever he had gone. Sam snapped back, licking his lips and gently but swiftly, settled down between Dean's legs and was slowly pushing into him, thinking he would be tight, but accepting this second time in so few hours.

The groan Dean let out was of pure pleasure, nothing else as Sam filled him. He pulled his legs up high, crossing them on his brother's back, his arms also encircling him and smiled at the expelled breath as Sam seated himself to his limit then stilled looking right into his eyes. Then he was kissing him slowly, deeply, full of passion and feeling as he began to move within him the same.

A few hours ago, it had all been about grasping, pumping, all passion and ardour. Now it was slow and sensuous lasting the longest yet between them as Sam matured once more before Dean's eyes, truly 'making love' to him for the first time. Shallow breaths, light kisses to necks, faces and fingers feeling, caressing bodies moving as one, each giving and taking equally. Names softly, lovingly spoken, then Sam rose up on elbows, his forehead once more on Dean's and staring into each other's eyes they both came together, a feat worthy of months of practice but testament to the emotions between them at this moment.

A sigh, a smile and pulling out of his brother slowly, Sam collapsed slipping to Dean's side still refusing to give up eye contact as they breathed deeply in unison trying to ignore the necessity of disposing of the used condom not caring where it landed. Then he relaxed against his brother's side, kissing his chin, his jaw then settling his head on the crook of Dean's shoulder, breathing out a sigh from his soul.

Playing with Sam's hair, Dean sighed also, saying, "Promise me something?"

"Anything." His breath hot on Dean's slick skin.

"Promise you'll do that on my birthday?" and Sam laughed lifting up and, grinning down at the mischievous expression, kissed his brother breathless, then rolled back and off him. Dean stretched then turned onto his front, not turning away from Sam but leaving himself truly vulnerable to him, relaxing as he would never have done with anyone else.

Rolling back, lying exhausted but content, Sam was half on Dean's back, a bent leg raised cushioned between Dean's thighs, chin on his shoulder. He reached a hand across his brother to twine with his fingers. Dean pulled it to his lips, kissing softly then, cheek on pillow, he succumbed to sleep.

And that was how John found them a few hours later.

Rising, showering, he had headed downstairs to find it deserted. Calling to no response, he headed up to Sam's room finding the bed in disarray, unusual because his youngest was near compulsively neat. Pushing into Dean's room to see if they had both gone out without him, he just stood stunned, his hand still on the handle and he found he could not breathe.

His first impulse was to grab hold of Dean and drag him from the bed and demand what had been happening, as if he could not tell, the whole room gave evidence from the discarded underwear, the condom wrapper and not least, that distinctive smell. He had noticed an aroma on Sam earlier but had dismissed it.

Sam moved in his sleep, his face pushing more into Dean's neck as he snuggled even closer and Dean's bent leg moved higher as he smiled. Both remained asleep and that in its self aroused his ire, that they should be so unaware of an intrusion. He had taught them to sleep 'with one eye open', proving yet another reason, if one was even needed, why what they were doing was wrong.

He backed out of the room as quietly as he could, closing the door and just remained there at a loss. How the hell had this happened? What the hell had Dean been thinking? He knew he was a randy bastard, but his _own brother_? His anger began to boil and clenching his fists tight, he was ready to storm back in, the only thing stopping him was the thought of his youngest who had been so happy to see him here this morning. He ground his teeth and thumped the wall hard, then stormed into the bathroom, making a great deal of noise, thrusting his hand under the cold tap.

This time they both shocked awake, Sam panicked but Dean was scared. He had been on the receiving end of his father's fury many a time before and, although he had never laid a hand on him, the man knew just what to say to send him out looking for the punishment John would not physically inflict. "It's okay. Dad's just up that's all. Get up and go back to your room." pushing the hair back from his brother's face as Sam knelt there staring at him.

He kissed him quickly and, groaning from stiff muscles, having slept with his brother on top of him, he went to the door to check it was clear. Sending Sam on his way with another swift but deep kiss, Dean closed the door and sank down to the bed, sitting head in hands. They had to be more careful. He would have to curb Sam's reckless enthusiasm, but maybe he would not need to judging by the panic evident on Sam's face seconds ago. But they would need to be careful because one thing was certain, there was no way he was going to give Sam up.

"Finally." John announced as Dean made an appearance in the kitchen, showered and wary. "Come on, we're going out to eat, Sam's choice." And looked from one to the other of his son's trying not to let on he noticed the tenseness. Now was not the time. They had a birthday to celebrate. ===

TBC===


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning**...sexual violence...Parental incest

* * *

Dumping his duffle bag at the bottom of one of the beds, Dean turned to his Dad. "What's the hunt then?" They had not driven far, just a couple of hours, then John had pulled the truck in at a motel surprising him.

John Winchester stood facing his eldest. The drive had been quiet, both with their own thoughts and he had been over and over various scenarios, trying to decide the best approach to take. In the end he had decided to give his son one chance. "You want to tell me what you and Sam have been up to while I've been away?"

Dean stilled as he worried for a moment, but it was a simple question, nothing ominous. "Not much really. Sam's always got his head stuck in a book and I've been working on the Impala. Can't get the doors to stop squeaking though." Briefly getting lost in thoughts of possible remedies he had not tried. "But, I'm glad you came home. It meant so much to Sammy." He smiled.

It was quick, his father had hold of him by the jaw, his other hand strong on the back of his head. "What the fuck were you thinking? Your own brother! I know you're a fucking slut, but, your own _brother_?" and he threw him off causing Dean to sink down the wall he had just hit, arms over his head as John strode over to him. "I've never hit you, but I should beat the living crap out of you for this!" and he really had to stop himself. "Get up!"

Reluctantly Dean climbed up the wall, hunching in on himself, unable to look at his father. He could not bear that look of disappointment, he would prefer him to strike. He just waited for whatever else was to come.

"Answer me." John demanded, furious.

"Sir?" What could he say?

"What the fuck were you thinking? What did you do? Just crawl into his bed and take him? Or was it more subtle? Did you tell him it was okay, it's only love?"

"It wasn't like that!" some defiance beginning to surface.

"You didn't have enough with all those women you bed?" practically spitting.

"It's not the same." arms wrapped tight across his waist.

"Obviously! And what about all those boys? Is that it? Your brother's just another one of those pretty boys you pick up in gay bars?"

Dean could not believe his father knew, and to think he would think of Sam like that. "No. It's not like that." almost in tears, "I would never have touched Sam if he hadn't wanted me to."

"He's your kid brother. Don't you dare put the blame on him." advancing on him once more.

Dean stood his ground but inside he was freaking. "He wanted me."

"And you fought _so_ hard to stop yourself I suppose?"

"Why the fuck do you think I went with all those boys?"

"Don't you dare raise your voice to Me!"

"No, Sir." Immediately reining in his own anger, but he had to make him understand. "Please believe me. Yes, I wanted Sam. I can't deny it. I've tried. But I never forced him. He wanted me too."

John could hardly bear to listen to this. He pushed Dean against the wall, his fist clenched in his shirt holding him there, but looked down and away. He needed to know, but could not look at him as he asked, "When? How long has this been going on? How old was Sam the first time you..?" he could not finish as the anger was growing again as he thought of this, his oldest, his 'obedient' son, what he had done to his youngest, barely old enough not to be considered a child.

"Five days."

"I don't believe you."

"I swear. Five days. The day you left. Sam was so mad at you for leaving. He didn't think you'd be back in time, thought that you didn't care."

"Don't you dare put the blame for this on me." pulling on Dean's shirt, ramming him back against the wall.

"There is no blame! Sam wanted me. I wanted him. I still do and I'm not going to give him up." He meant it. Whatever his Dad was going to do to them, to him, he would not give up Sam, would not abandon him.

John seized Dean with both fists in his shirt, pulling him again, ramming him back and was not surprised when he was not fought off. John Winchester knew a hell of a lot more about his son than Dean thought he did. He leant in close speaking clearly and distinctly into his face, "Where the fuck did I go so wrong with you, that you fuck any boy that reminds you of your brother? Or that you whore yourself out, spreading your legs, ass in the air, for all those men?"

Dean froze, 'how did he know? He couldn't know'. He began shaking his head, the only words he could squeeze out were shocked denial, a litany of "No. Oh no."

"You let them beat you. You want them to. Why? Why Dean? Why do you want grown men to treat you like that? Why do you like it?"

"I don't!" wanting to be able to deny it.

"Stop lying to me! I've seen you shaking your ass for those bastards. I've followed you. I know what you do. But I don't understand why?" and then he cupped his son's face, his anger bleeding away as he saw the anguish written all over it, and he knew that somehow it was his fault. He had brought them up the best he could in the circumstances, but he had missed something along the way and Dean punished himself for it. "Tell me. Please."

He so did not want to do this, to collapse and cry in front of his father, but his throat was tight and he could not keep the quiver from his lip and as his Dad, his _Dad,_ looked at him so intently, with a compassion he only ever remembered being shown to Sam, he spoke and the tears fell. "All I've ever had are you and Sammy. There's darkness and things that want to kill us, hunt us, destroy us. This life's shit. I hate it. I hate it that we have to move from place to place. I hate that I have no friends. I've never had any friends. But there's Sam. There's you and there's Sam. And I want .. I need.. you. I have nothing …. I want…. ," He could not help it, Dean was raw and he felt so much. He clutched onto John, burying his face into his stubble covered neck, his hands coming up to hold on to the back of his shoulders and he pushed himself against the solid figure of his father.

In trying to keep his sons safe, John realised he had managed to 'fuck this one up' well and truly. He had been stunned to say the least, to enter that room and see them both there, to realise that the closeness he had always seen, had encouraged, had turned into a sexual relationship. But that was nothing compared to the realisation that his twenty year old son was so desperate for his attention? for his love? that in his mixed up life he was pushing himself against his father. He was holding on tightly to his father and he was growing hard against his hip.

"Damn it, Dean." And he held him tight, trying to make up for all the crap that he had put him through over the years, knowing nothing ever could. His son was damaged and he was powerless to do anything to correct it. He felt, rather than heard, Dean's sigh against his neck. He let him go pulling his arms from around him but Dean would not acquiesce. He held onto him, pushing against him.

"Stop this." John was seized with an impulse to hit him. He could not stomach the way Dean was making him feel. "Let go of me." And grabbing his son's hands, forced him back against the wall, holding his wrists hard above his head. And Dean just looked at him, looked at him with lust in his eyes. No, not quite lust, it was mixed up with a desperate need. This was fucking unbelievable. "You're already fucking your brother. What? You want to fuck me now? Don't you realise how wrong that is? You're not just a whore are you? You're a fucking pervert!"

And for the first time ever, Dean laid into his father. "Oh course I fucking know! Why the fuck did you think I let all those drunken bastards, all those twisted fucks have me? Because I wanted you. But you were _never fucking there! _Always running off after this tip or that. Saving some bastard else, leaving me to bring up Sammy. I was a kid, Dad. I was lonely and had this even smaller kid dragging after me. Always wanting something. Always needing something. 'When's Dad coming home, when's Dad coming home?' And all I wanted was my Dad to come home and be with me and one night I went out. I'd had enough so I went for a drink, 'cause remember? _that's_ what you did when you couldn't cope and there was a man that wanted me. To be with me. And he just happened to look like you. And he wanted me. So I let him do whatever he wanted to me. And it hurt. It hurt so damn much. But he wanted _Me_. He wanted to be with me. With _me!_

"And when I got home, Sam was so scared. Not for himself but for me. He was ten years old. But he was so scared for me. And he held me and told me everything was going to be okay and that he loved me. And he crawled into bed behind me and held me. I loved him so much for that. He knew somebody had hurt me and kept asking what had happened. But how could I tell him? But he wanted to make it all better and I loved him then more than I ever realised I could. And I've never thought of him as a chore since and every day, I've loved him more, and when he came to me, when he kissed me, I couldn't turn him away. I know it's wrong, I've always known it's all so fucked up but that's the way it is and…and…" he went silent.

John could do nothing but stare into the face so close to his, as somehow he had ended up being the one up against the wall, Dean's anger giving him strength as he had forced him off and swung him around. Fingers were digging into his upper arms hard enough to bruise. He could not say anything, all that Dean had told him made him want to weep but he could not do that.

Fourteen! His son had only been fourteen years old when he had let some stranger take him. If he had known then, he would have found and killed the bastard, not just put him in hospital like that one in Arizona the night he had followed Dean to find the cause for the continual bruising he had not covered well enough. He had thought he was getting into fights, could never have imagined what turned out to be the truth. That had been two years ago and John had suffered a rage so terrible he had seriously hurt that man and really he had only been giving Dean what he wanted. His son was a sexual masochist in the least though he thought, he might be much more complicated than that.

He was thinking what to do now he had opened up this can, but Dean kissed him. He kissed him hard, ramming his body into him, pushing his hardening prick up onto his own. John pushed him off or rather tried to. The more he fought him, the more Dean pushed against him, grinding his hips onto his. Suddenly Dean's hands released him, but there was no respite as his hands were at his belt, pulling at it, opening it.

"Get off me. Dean. Stop." But he did not, he managed the belt and started on his jeans. His arms free once more John pushed him away, hard, causing Dean to hit the bed and fall back, sitting staring up at him with definite lust this time. John moved to tower over him but he could not 'fix' him, help him by yelling, and he had no idea how to talk to him about his predilection so he just stood there, lost, staring down at his son.

Dean had waited for something like this to happen for years. Well, not exactly like this, but it was the most honest they had ever been together and he determined to continue. The most honest thought he had right now, was that his father was standing right in front of him, and he could not turn away from what he had longed for. He knew he was 'fucked up' as he had said, but if he had learnt one thing recently, it was that you should not deny what you really wanted if it was not hurting anyone. Sam had taught him that.

Dean took in a shocked breath as if he had been slapped across the face. How could he want to be fucked by his father right now, when he had Sammy waiting at home for him? He was disgusting and he should to be punished for it. He needed the crap beaten out of him. Sammy deserved that.

Dean's hands were at his jeans again and had managed to get John's flies undone before he had had time to react. He grabbed his wrists, pulling them up, staring into those yearning green eyes and Dean's lips parted. As John's grip tightened, Dean slipped off the bed, gazing up at him, to kneel in front of him and with his arms held up, he leant forwards to rub his face against the opening on his father's jeans.

John felt that anger flare once more and releasing just one of Dean's wrists, he stepped back and for the first time ever, he hit one of his son's. He stood breathing hard, looking in horror at what he had done as his son hung by his wrist sprawled on the floor. He let go as if burnt and was about to bend to help him up when Dean suddenly turned, looking up at him, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand. John took an involuntary step back at the look on his son's face.

Dean stood and fixing his father in the eye, slowly removed his jacket, followed by his shirt then John found himself back against the wall as Dean's body slammed into him, kissing him. Dean's hands were under his jacket, under his shirt, grasping his sides fingers kneading into his flesh. Forcing his tongue between his father's lips, his hands grasped his jeans and forced them open. He pushed one hand up under John's shirt onto his chest and the other onto his cock.

If Dean was a pervert then so was John as his prick jumped at the contact and his lips opened to allow his son's tongue to pillage the inside of his mouth. Then he kissed him back but, as Dean's hand curled around his length making him hard and began to work him so skilfully, he thought of all those men that his son had had and he felt an anger so intense that his son was acting the whore for him now. His son wanted him to treat him like all those men had. He grabbed hold of Dean's hair forcing his head back and to the side.

Dean was so hard. His hand clutched at his father's chest, squeezing the nipple trapped between his fingers, his other twisting around the proud head and, as his hair and head were pulled back further, he trembled, "Dad, please." And he was not begging to be released. But John did release his hold and Dean's head straightened looking at him in loss and want.

John once more grabbed his son's wrist, pulling the hand from his prick and looking at the expression on Dean's face, he felt disgust and managed without meaning to, to give his son just what he needed. John drew back his hand and slapped Dean hard across his face and as the eyes turned back to him, he did it again.

That second slap had knocked him to the floor and stunned, his father had no trouble ripping the t-shirt off and over his head. Then Dean heard, "Get the fuck up off the floor." And he obeyed immediately to find himself pushed face first into the wall, a hand hard on the side of his head holding him in place as his feet were kicked apart. His jeans were undone and barely pulled down before hands were hard on his hips, thumbs pulling his buttocks up and apart and then his Dad's prick pushed against his asshole.

John was going to take him dry! No. It had happened before and Dean had not protested but that was before Sam. It would take him far too long to heal and he had to be ready for Sam if, when he wanted him. "Please. Dad, please, not without lube." And he began to move, attempting to dislodge John's hands, finally fighting back, but John had him and he felt the head of his prick force its way in past his rim. He did not scream, but let out an agonised groan, not so much from pain but the thought of having to tell Sam no, as he heeled. He would have to lie, for he could never let him know about this. "Dad, Please." And the tears fell unashamedly.

For one moment, which John would never forget or be able to forgive himself for, he thought to ignore his son's pleas and force his way inside. The noises Dean was making and the squirming had turned him on in a way he would never have thought possible. But to his shame, what stopped him was the thought that he would probably be fucking his prick raw. He pulled out and cast around, then thought just to spit on Dean and use that, the way he was feeling about him right now it would be apt.

"My jacket."

"What?" as he pushed the side of Dean's face back to the wall as he dared to move.

"Lube. In my jacket pocket." He spoke almost fearfully.

"Fine! Strip!" and John moved off to retrieve it.

Dean hesitated, then bent to untie and remove his boots and sensing John turn, he looked up and saw him standing there slowly covering his erection with the lubricant and the expression on his face terrified and excited Dean at the same time. This was so different than all those times before when he had allowed a succession of nameless men to assault him, to use him. This was his father whom he had fantasised about for so long, but the man was so angry. He did not know how to play this game and Dean feared that his father was really going to hurt him. But mainly he was scared that after this John, may never be able to look at him again. There was no lust as he stared at him so coldly, it was rage.

As Dean stepped out of his jeans and slowly rose to stand naked before him, John asked himself, what the hell he thought he was doing, then Dean looked him in the eye then quickly down to the ground, hands clutching at his arms crossed over his waist. He looked so vulnerable. And John damned himself.

He lurched forwards grabbing his boy's arms and pulled him to him kissing him so hard, crushing his lips to his teeth, then he once more threw him away, from himself so Dean landed grabbing hold of the old Formica table. John grabbed hold of the pale buttocks then unashamedly, revelling in the almost scream of pain from the bent figure as his prick bust through Dean's rim, he drove straight in right up to his root.

His body laying on the cold hard surface, his hands grasping the far edge, Dean clenched his jaw tight at the pulse of pain that was screaming through him. His father had sheaved himself then paused, a hand hard between his shoulder blades keeping him in place, his other holding on tight to his hip. As the pain began to recede slightly he managed to breath once more and very slowly his body began to relax against the intrusion.

John felt the loosening of the muscles holding him in place and thought about how many men this slut had allowed here before him and furious once again, he pulled back and rammed back into the, admittedly, hot tightness, cocooning his prick so wonderfully, wanting it to hurt as much as he was sure the first thrust had done. And he did it again, making each thrust as harsh as he could and knew then for certain that his son liked to be taken violently as he began to push back against him, the groans becoming a mixture of pain and passion, his hard prick swinging with the force of the taking.

The rhythm sped up and Dean was just a being of feeling, not able to think of anything other than the sensation of his skin and nipples stuck to the table surface being stretched with each forward movement. His arsehole stretched wide still not relaxed enough to accommodate the solid shaft moving, grating inside of him as apparently John had used a minimum of lube. He would burn after this. There would be bruises on his arms, on his hips and buttocks, not to mention his face. His cock was rocking and he knew he would cum with the slightest contact, but his own hands would not be able to reach under the table and John showed no inclination to tend to him. Dean gasped out, moaning in relief as he felt that thing, that compulsion inside himself, quieten.

He could not sustain this any longer and stopping the rapid pounding, John slowly stilled then moved both his hands to hold the muscled torso by the waist. Two sharp deep thrusts and he came shuddering and hands tightening, leaving yet more bruising, he rocked a couple more times and then taking a breath pulled out of Dean too quickly, wanting this over and nothing more of him.

He could feel the cum filling him up and as the softened, but still swollen shaft, was ripped from him, Dean came too, gasping out with loss as from all consuming sensation, suddenly there was nothing. He pushed himself up unsteadily from the table and, needing to see his father's face, turned, still shuddering, dragging in lungful after lungful of air needing to see a confirmation in his father's eyes. But John was not looking at him. John had done up his jeans and was standing with his back turned, fastening his belt.

John wanted to leave right now, without turning around, without having to speak to Dean but to just go and somehow forget that this ever happened. Along with his cum, he had shed his anger and now he was cold. He was trying not to think about what he had just done. If not rape, he had certainly abused his son, no matter that it was what he seemed to want, but that was no excuse. His anger had become all consuming and short of beating him to death, he had vented it by sexually assaulting him. He should leave now and never come near him again.

Dean moved behind his father. He wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to show him how much he, 'appreciated' what he had just done to, for him. It had, as with his brother, far surpassed what he had imagined. He placed a tentative hand on a broad shoulder making his father flinch. He pulled his hand back as if burnt and dropped his head dreading that his fear had come true. That now his father wanted nothing to do with him. "Dad?"

"Don't call me that." more harshly than he had intended.

"I'm sorry. Sir? Please, will you..?" he faltered. All Dean wanted now was John to turn around and look at him, to hold him, to love him.

Sighing John did turn around and made himself look at Dean. He was doing it again, looking so vulnerable. Head slightly down, eyes averted and his lips parted ever so slightly. He reached out to hold his son's chin, running his thumb over that mouth none too gently and those beautiful eyes rose to beseech him. His hand moved around to the back of Dean's neck and he pulled him forwards kissing him, his other hand running down and holding across his back.

Dean sank against him, enjoying the feel and smell of the leather of John's jacket, the buttons on his shirt catching against his flesh still smarting from sticking to the table, the roughness of the denim bulge of his father's jeans fastening rubbing against his prick. Himself totally naked, held in the strong arms of his father who had fucked him and not even bothered to take so much as his jacket off. He pushed further onto him, the belt buckle leaving temporary brands on his belly as it pushed back.

"You know I have to leave now?" But Dean did not answer just pushed his face into John's neck, lips open on his skin, hands clutching at his back under the jacket. And John tightened his arms and held him, his cheek resting against the short hair and let out a heartfelt sigh.

"Dean. Let go." and reluctantly he did. It had been amazing, him stood there naked being cradled by his father for the longest he ever remembered being still, just being still. He stepped back waiting for the inevitable. John placed his hand on Dean's shoulder and looked at him properly for the first time. He was a grown man now for all his faults. "Stay here the night, clean up and go back to Sammy. Don't go back smelling of... Me." He found this hard to say, "Love him. Keep him safe. But, be careful, Dean." And he shook his shoulder in emphasis, "No more boys."

And Dean looked at him shaking his head. He did not need any of them now he had Sam and, "You won't stay away long?"

"No, I won't. Goodbye, Son." And touched his swollen bottom lip with his thumb then pressed hard making Dean suck in his breath at the sudden pain. "Stop with the men too."

Dean nodded answering, "Goodbye, Sir." Knowing that he would not need them either as he watched his father leave.

John sat behind the wheel of the truck staring through the windscreen at the future. He could feel Dean's eyes on him as he stood at the window. He was going to Hell for what he had just done to his son and one day he was going to have to do something so monumentally selfless for Dean to make up for it. If anything ever could. He turned over the engine and pulled out of the motel without a backwards glance. ===

**Epilogue**

For Dean's twenty-first birthday, Sam took it into his head to take him out for a 'romantic' meal and gave him a silver ring at the table and a blow job in the restroom. ===

=000=

At eighteen, Sam sat at the kitchen table a pensive look on his face, playing nervously with the envelope in his long fingers, waiting. This was going to be damn hard.

He looked up as Dean came bounding into the room, throwing his holdall down and smiling broadly at him, back from another successful hunt. "Gonna hit the shower. Wanna join me?"

Sam looked at the envelope, running his fingers over the return address for Stanford University. "Dean. Please. Sit down. There's something I have to tell you."

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